


Tainted Love

by Gonewiththeblizzard



Category: Political RPF - US 20th c., Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 20:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17351825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gonewiththeblizzard/pseuds/Gonewiththeblizzard
Summary: On the night of January 1st 1999, Hillary reflects on her past, present and future.





	Tainted Love

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year guys!  
> As usual, special thanks to EAS1928 for her editing services.

This isn’t like any New Year’s Day in the past 27 I’ve spent with Bill. Some were good and happy, and a few others were marred by sadness and regrets. Today certainly belongs to the second category but something feels different. Maybe I’ve finally had enough. Maybe I’m done trying to fix what is damaged, cutting myself in the process. 

It had been Chelsea, demonstrating an impressive maturity at just 18, who opened my eyes. She took my hand at dinner, looked at me in the eyes and told me she wants me to be happy. My heart dropped and I ponder over the unfairness of her having to be in such position, advising her mother on heartbreak. But her words made me think. I’ve spent her life trying to protect her from the woes in our marriage and I don’t regret it. It breaks my heart to think she finally learnt the whole sad truth about her parents’ marriage but there is something liberating about knowing that she is old enough to understand. I don’t have to pretend anymore; I don’t have to force myself to move on for the sake of our family. I can, for the first time, put myself first.

Her words resound in my head: am I happy? That is not an easy question, I’m not flat-out miserable but I have seen better times. How does one quantify happiness? Even harder to answer, although lately I cry more than I laugh. What would make me happy? This is an easy one; being loved by him like I love him. Wholeheartedly and unconditionally. So strongly I could never forgive myself if I caused him an ounce of the pain I’m feeling, the hopelessness and the frustration that sadly, are nothing new to me. I’m starting to become numb to it. Vivid is the memory of when I, too, failed him. The look of disappointment in his eyes as he grappled with what I had done. I had often understood temptation in messianic terms, blame my religious upbringing for that, but it is real, very real, and even the most devout Christian can fall victim to it. What kept me from falling again was my love for him, I simply refused to be the one responsible for his suffering. But he just doesn’t care, he embraces temptation, sometimes even with no trigger, in the name of vanity or maybe boredom. He doesn’t try hard enough to resist; he doesn’t love me enough to resist.

I feel my eyes water and I take another sip of the overly sweet mulled wine leftover from dinner. It has become a habit, drowning my sorrows in liquor to avoid the deep thinking or I’ll never move on, but it doesn’t seem to work tonight. Its burning sensation as it goes down my throat pales in comparison to the burning in my thighs, remnant of the desire I gave in to barely half an hour ago with him. He is trying, he is being so good to me, but I can’t tell if it’s due to human compassion or sincere repent. For better or for worse, Bill is back in our bed, has been for more than two months already, literally and metaphorically speaking. But is he back in my heart? Truth is, he never left. Everything would be so much easier if I didn’t love him, because as I can attest, there is nothing worse than loving and not being loved in return. This is the sad truth of my life. Now he is in the shower, washing off the scent of me. I can’t help but think of the other times he washed off other women’s perfumes and then laid in our bed, allowing me to cuddle up to him, thinking he cared for me, that I was the only one in his heart. Now in retrospect, the cruelty jumps out, as does the selfishness and his disregard for me. 

I didn’t know love before Bill. I had boyfriends before him and two of them were serious enough to tell me they loved me. I welcomed the words and I even said it back, thinking I meant it, but when I met Bill, when I saw how attentive he was, how he looked at me, the three words finally acquired meaning. I am in love with him and for years, thinking that he loved me too, kept me from the abyss when he cheated on me. I resigned myself to accept that physically I could not be enough for him, that he had a sex drive I would never be able to satisfy. The problem has never been a low libido or a lack of desire for him. On the contrary, I was only living my life. I wasn’t home every day, I had my own career and we had a daughter. And then, there were the business trips that sometimes keep us in different states or now in different countries, for days on end. Foolishly, I convinced myself that being cheated on was the price to pay for my independence, for not being there for him all the time. Even more foolishly, I told myself that what he had with other women was meaningless sex and he and I shared something special, something meaningful. 

When he first told me about his latest affair, after denying it for months, I was incensed. I felt betrayed and upset because I was going to be humiliated in front of the whole world. I had his behavior so normalised that being humiliated was what bothered me the most. I expected him to say sorry, tell me he loved me and we would move on together, like we always did. But as new details of the affair emerged, everything changed. They broke me. The fact that he gave her _Leaves of Grass_ and that he spent time with her on our anniversary hurts more than the blowjobs. It cheapens what I thought we had and as much as it breaks my heart to say it: proves that he doesn’t love me like I love him. And it is a heavy burden to carry. The love that empowered me now makes me feel powerless. My natural tendency was to examine my own shortcomings first. Was I attentive enough? Was I selfless enough to put my own pain away when Vince or our parents died and focus more on him? I know that I wasn’t, but do I deserve what I got in return? 

For years, I have tried to be a good wife, keep him afloat, save him from self-destruction. I worked hard for his political career, not just because I believe in his vision for his state and now for this country, but because I hoped achieving his professional goals would settle him down. No such luck. I bent over backwards to have a good relationship with his snobbish mother who on her deathbed still believed her beloved son deserved someone better than me. To please her and those former plantation owners resistant to modernity, I changed my name, I changed my looks, I learned to behave like a real lady, and while I do not necessarily regret this, the truth is I did it for him. Yet, it was to no avail. Little by little I became less confident, less fierce, I began to resemble those affluent wives I have always loathed, those who would rather shut up and be quiet than cause a scandal. I was losing my essence, what made me Hillary Rodham, what made him fall in love with me in the first place. 

I stop my train of thought and clench my fists. Will I ever learn not to blame myself for his behavior? To justify it with my own failures? At this point, it’s just pathetic. Nothing I have ever done has remotely made him change his ways, not even giving him a daughter. It’s not me, it’s him. He has issues, serious issues, probably rooted in his abusive traumatic childhood. “If you love someone, you don’t walk away, you help them” has always been my motto but what if nothing I do to help him does? I may not be the one who can help him, he needs professional help and he’s finally receiving it. But where does that leave me? What should I do now? Should I walk away? Should I leave him before I end up in flames with him? I still haven’t made up my mind. Sometimes it hurts to stay, it hurts not knowing if he will do that again, it hurts to feel pitied. It hurts not knowing if he loves me, or if he ever did. But I still don’t want to hurt him. I care about him, I love him.

New Year, new beginnings, and it’s time I put myself first. It’s time I begin thinking about what would make me happy. That’s it, that’s my resolution, so simple and so complicated at the same time: be happy. Professionally, I’m intrigued by the New York Senate seat so many people are urging me to run for. I’m flattered and I would actually love to be in politics myself, to keep fighting for what I believe in after Bill retires, but with real power. For months, I have been putting it off, not sure I would be good enough to fill Senator Moynihan’s shoes but you know what? That’s up to the voters and If I decide to run, I will do my best to win their support. My short term promise is looking at it, exploring the possibility, but it would make me happy being able to serve. In the personal arena, everything is too blurry to know what would make me happy. I would love to forgive him; I would love to grow old with him. He is, after all, the love of my life. But I want it to be on my terms. I’m not asking for the moon, I’m just asking to be respected, to be loved. Will he rise to it? Only time will tell.

I realize the water has stopped and he will come out of the bathroom any time now. I tie my still slightly damp hair up in a bun and go back to the bed. I shiver at the coldness of the white silky sheets. I pretend to be asleep, I don’t want to talk to him right now, but I’m so tired I end up really falling asleep. Next thing I know, I’m in his warm arms, he’s waking me up with soft tender kisses and telling me it’s almost noon. He tells me he loves me and it feels real, like it always does at this time of the day, when I’m not overthinking and just feeling. He smiles at me and I can’t help but smile back. He kisses me again. I love him. I would love to be happy with him.


End file.
